end

What I had felt when
You left your words on the
Gutter of my fear,
No I won’t…Giving you
The satisfaction that I
Would burst out like a
Firecracker, bound to
Explode, while you clean
Your hands by trying
To swivel your words
to cushion the needles
That I know you weren’t
Really sorry about…

Instead, I contained it in me,
Making this unstable ball of
bitter Emotions into
something more
Brilliant, and juicing it up
Making it into poetry,
Making into a blanket that
I am familiar with,
And deceive you that I am
Perfectly alright when in
Truth, this is much
Worse than when I wore my
Heart on my sleeve.

she blinked once, and then another, and then another…trying to keep those little droplets inside those pool of consciousness, retrieving every concluded wrongs she has done without the power of making it undone. She stared at those trees, on a hot after noon hour, where the sun is burning those branches like her arms were lit on fire. The wind brought her mind to the clouds, cynically saying to herself that nothing can be done, and as bitter as it may seem, nothing is there at the end of the tunnel where she is travelling in darkness for thousands of useless hours, crying rocks for nothing, crying blood for anything, there is no deferrals for this type of contract in life, and in the end you’ll get sunburned. The flaring sun kept its promise to toast the road outside her window, as she observes the empty street with perfectly manicured bushes and a few cars on the driveway ready to go to someplace else but there. Besides that, nothing is of noise, everything is in sync with reality, catching a green and yellow light, sometimes orange if she looked hard enough. With this the silence on the outside makes her insane, in the depths of her soul. She’s screaming, delusional and nonsensical. Like the pounding of her heart, she left nothing to herself but this crazy illusion of solving everything. ending the road. Cutting the thread of her breath. Justifying this wrong doing as something that will let her reach nirvana. Letting herself rush to this vast space where she can feel nothing. Embrace no one but peace. Inside of her everything is loud, chaotic and riotous, a perfect dismay of rotting desired of what should have happened but no. This is the truth. And she wants to end it. If only someone would hear this inside of her, then maybe she can be set free. Someone would hold a dagger for her as she ran to it, letting the sweet metal penetrate her endlessly until she escapes her worldly temple and reach something more euphoric. More deserving. More pure and clear. And everything else will just like dust, sand in the desert, hot and tiny. While she shall look down from the stars and would see how beautiful everything is.